


Ad Astra per Aspera

by charlietinpants



Category: Star Trek (2009)
Genre: Bullies, Gen, Starfleet Academy, ass kicking
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-06-07
Updated: 2012-06-07
Packaged: 2017-11-07 00:02:00
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,497
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/424663
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/charlietinpants/pseuds/charlietinpants
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Ragging is a rite of passage for first year male cadets in the Starfleet Academy. Someone steps in before 'tradition' stuffs a sixteen-year old Sulu's head down the toilet.</p><p>--</p><p> They call it an initiation rite- some age-old tradition passed down from when the Federation was still composed of just its four founding members- and it’s rich, calling it a tradition. What it is is a glorified swirly, a baptism by yellow nasty- it’s like high school all over again and Hikaru didn't sign up for this shit.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Ad Astra per Aspera

**Author's Note:**

> writing assignment for eliteofthefleet on lj.

Strangely enough, Hikaru doesn’t hear about it until half-way through his first year. 

 

They call it an initiation rite- some age-old tradition passed down from when the Federation was still composed of just its four founding members- and it’s  _rich_ , calling it a tradition. What it is is a glorified swirly, a baptism by yellow nasty- it’s like high school all over again and it  _sucks_ \- because this is Starfleet, and Starfleet’s not supposed to be like this, dammit. Starfleet’s supposed to be for pride and glory and having a code of honour, of going places, making discoveries and saving lives and being that one person that makes a difference; _for those searching for some greater purpose in life- Starfleet wants YOU!_

 

Starfleet’s gone to the dogs if this passes as ‘tradition’. Doesn’t matter what Hikaru or the other first year cadets think of it- forget rite of passage, it’s iron-fisted law carried out by three of the biggest cadets Hikaru has ever seen in his life, and no one’s protesting. Not yet. The bullying leaves a sour taste in his mouth and it feels a little like his idealized notions are are splintering, a bit like cheap glass and Hikaru wonders whether the decision he made to enlist in Starfleet was the right one. Starfleet’d been the logical choice, had been the only place he’d actually wanted to go. Their Helmsman Training Programme’s the best this side of the Alpha Quadrant, and Hikaru’s wanted to be a pilot since he was old enough to understand the concept of starships, even before he has the experience of wind and space beneath metaphorical wings; on the way to Starfleet Academy, the pilot lets Hikaru sit in the passenger seat of the shuttle and it’s enough to make him feel like he’s finally  _home_ , finally found the place he was searching for, the one which he didn’t know he was looking for, until he did. It’s surreal and a bit like heaven, and he’s sixteen, he can’t help it- he cries a little and the pilot sees but it’s like the guy knows the feeling because there’s this moment of connection and-  _yeah_. Hikaru stays there the whole damn journey and the guy claps his shoulder just before he leaves. Tells him to look for a Hutchison in four years time. And yeah, Hikaru knows he’s meant to be a pilot- that this is his purpose, he’s found  _it_ \- but. But.

 

Hikaru doesn’t like bullies. His first engagement with one happens on the second day of third grade, because yes, Hikaru was the token geeky Asian kid with the coke bottle glasses, centre parting and diamond-patterned sweater vest in the middle of summer. (he grew out of it, but that’s not the point) He was such a  _walking_   _cliché_  that damned if Fred Roweley couldn’t play at that game too. The second day of school ends with broken spectacles and a pattern of bruises down his cheek and damn- if only he couldn’t remember the look on his mother’s face when she saw him come back that day. 

 

It’s what starts him on Kendo, which totally sits well with his dad, since the family dojo’s been sitting in disuse since his father quit the sensei schtick years ago to teach physics full time at the ‘U. In fact, it makes his dad downright happy, going at it with so much enthusiasm that Hikaru suffers, at least for those first few months with the muscle sprains and torn skin. Hikaru sort-of thinks his dad does it because he doesn’t like the dojo being associated with the feeling of emptiness and quiet- dojos are meant to be filled- not just with people but with the sounds of ki-ai, with the feel of rushed air and channeled energy swarming but finely tuned and controlled, like a hair finely balanced on the edge of a sword. His dad talks about the theoretical basis of ki and energy, but Hikaru’s pretty sure of the existence of bundled energy at his fingertips, of the sensation of something flowing from his hands to his bokken as he swings- and  _breathes_. Sometimes he questions whether it’s the externalization of an internal force, or if it’s simply the physical manifestation of electrons with a purpose- free electrons without regard to order or structure, mobile electrons with some greater meaning. 

 

(Hikaru never learns to love Kendo, not really. Kendo is comfortable, like comfortable-old-sofa relatives and close family; he grows up with it being part of his life, grows up with its ideals ingrained at the back of his mind- but Hikaru knows he’s found his true love when he places his hand on the hilt and pommel of his first sabre. He watches way too many holos with swashbuckling heroes after that.)

 

When some of the third-year cadets come around one evening while Hikaru’s working late on his Command Tactics assignment in the library, he isn’t so much surprised as resigned. There isn’t anyone else there this late into the night and Hikaru’s (semi-decorative but extremely functional) katana is sitting pretty on the shelf in his room. There isn’t much point anyway- even if he fights, even if he wins, the hazing won’t stop- they’ve big names, with backing and a reputation. Jake Ducell’s daddy is big cheese with the Admiralty- he’s the reason Jake gets promoted every year even though Jake’s just about as dumb as a rock. Alfred Patel  _doesn’t even know how to punch right_. Samuel Rayner’s the only one that needs to be watched for in a fight- his preference is quick and dirty. All three are persistent as hell and there was that one kid a year ago who fought back? Got his innards kicked in like an elephant stepped on him three months later. Starfleet Medical has to use the skin off his ass to replace the stuff holding his intestines. 

 

So Hikaru stands up, feet apart, resisting the urge to sink into defensive stance as the three of them grin and shoulder up to him, ruffling his hair before gripping him hard by his shoulders. “Bring it,” Hikaru grits, and they do. 

 

Hikaru has to give them some credit as they drag him half across the campus- the toilet they pick is just about the foulest-smelling place he’s ever been. The whole place is swimming in murky brown water and someone has thoughtfully pre-christened the toilet bowl they intend to shove his face into and dammit- Hikaru didn’t sign up for this shit. Don’t resist, he tells himself, as they grip his scalp and push it towards the water. Don’t fight back. 

 

His forehead barely dips into tepid water before he feels his body thrown backward, the force sending him skittering across the floor. It kind of feels like that elephant, he thinks absently, pulling himself up when he hears the sounds of truncated yells, the loud thud of something solid hitting the floor. What he sees are shiny black boots (non-regulation standard, the type he’d give an arm and a leg for), the black uniform of an instructor, bowl haircut and a total lack of expression and Hikaru thinks, ‘Vulcans do fights?’

 

He doesn’t realise that his mouth-brain filter is gone and he’s said it out loud until one arched brow ticks slowly upward. 

 

“Vulcans do not participate in acts of violence, however, actions taken in aid of others are considered an acceptable form of mediatory intervention,” the Vulcan informs him, and Hikaru blinks. He did not just hear a Vulcan say kicking ass was a form of ‘mediatory intervention’. Did not. Perhaps he hit his head harder than he thought. 

 

“I do not consider concerted efforts to humiliate a fellow cadet as acceptable behaviour befitting of a Starfleet Cadet and a future Starfleet Officer,” says the Vulcan, and Hikaru stares as the Vulcan nudges the bit of unconscious cadet lying across his feet off with one fluid movement. Vulcans did flicking dickwad off their boots  _gracefully_. He didn’t expect that.  

 

“You need not concern yourself with a recurrence of these activities- it will be taken care of.” The guy says, and then he’s gone and Hikaru just thinks, damn. Vulcans are badass. 

 

Who’d have thought. 

 

He doesn’t find out the name of the Vulcan until five years later; he’s got one year of Ensign under his belt and he’s been assigned to the  _Enterprise_. Spock doesn’t show any form of recollection of that one moment years ago and even shoots him the scary eyebrow for forgetting to disengage the external inertial dampener- Hikaru admits to quailing a little at that- but who cares, it doesn’t detract from the point that Hikaru’s got his wings (and damn, if it isn’t the most beautiful ship he’s ever seen), he’s gonna go out saving the world. He might die trying, but this is his purpose, this is the Starfleet he’ll do it for. This is it. 

 

_Ready for warp, Sir._

_Let’s punch it._


End file.
